


Another Beginning

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-26
Updated: 2006-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: At Ron and Hermione's wedding, Harry and Ginny meet up again after three years apart. One shot





	Another Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

It had been three years now since she’d seen him.   
  
Three years, since they’d had that one last terrible fight, since he’d left her—left all of them—on what she’d known was a fool’s mission.   
  
He’d been convinced it was his duty. That the final, surviving ally of Voldemort’s had to be found, and caught, and destroyed. Since long ago he had taken responsibility for everything that Voldemort had touched, he’d insisted that he was the only one who could do it. So, in the wake of their victory, he’d risked his life yet again and set off on another dangerous journey.   
  
Ginny Weasley had known then, as she knew now, that this new journey wouldn’t lead Harry Potter back to her in the end.   
  
More than once she’d wondered if he’d expected to be killed—to die in the attempt to do something that someone else should have done. The martyr in his nature just wouldn’t give up . . . until it had reached the only end a martyr was allowed.   
  
Ginny knew the demons that haunted him, that drove him to turn his life into an endless battle. She understood it, but she defied the idea that those demons should be given control of the man.   
  
She’d known he shouldn’t have gone. Everyone knew he shouldn’t have gone. But Harry had insisted—with the hard, cool stubbornness that he’d cultivated as a defense against his enemies—that he was going anyway.  
  
Even after everyone else had relented and given up trying to convince him to change his mind, Ginny hadn’t given up. She’d told him that he was wrong, that he was actually being selfish. That there was work he needed to accomplish here, that his life was too valuable to risk unnecessarily, that he hadn’t been born to always be miserable. She’d tried to be reasonable at first, but they’d ended up screaming mercilessly at each other. Both were committed to the rightness of their cause, so neither was willing to cave.   
  
So, when she finally acknowledged that he would never change his mind, Ginny had ended up walking out on him the evening before he’d left.   
  
She hadn’t seen him the following morning to say goodbye. She hadn’t seen him at all in three years.   
  
Ginny knew that his long struggle against Voldemort had changed him, had wiped away all evidence of the sweet-hearted boy he once had been. She understood why he couldn’t relax, couldn’t let out his breath, couldn’t settle down, even after their victory.   
  
But understanding his reasons didn’t make her any less angry. Any less sad.   
  
Any less scared.   
  
The year she’d spent after he’d left had been miserable. Part of her had continued hoping he’d come back, either because he’d come to his senses or because he’d accomplished what he’d taken on himself to do. That had been her last year at Hogwarts, and she’d gone through the motions of her education in a kind of bleary haze, her emotions shifting from fiery rage to sobbing grief and back again.   
  
She wasn’t just outraged by Harry’s insistence on committing himself to a mission that shouldn’t have been his. She was also heartbroken.  
  
And heartbreaks like hers didn’t heal overnight.   
  
That year was difficult for everyone in the Wizarding world, as they’d tried to reshape their lives after the defeat of Voldemort. The chaos of war lingered, even after the final battle. And few people had noticed that Ginny had cried herself to sleep on far too many nights.   
  
After she’d finished Hogwarts, things had gotten better. Ginny had put her memories behind her, started her own life, pursued her career in Muggle relations, dated other men. Quite a few, as it happened. She’d basically made herself into a successful, normal young woman—not one whose life had been shaped long ago by a relationship with Harry Potter.   
  
Three years had passed now since she’d seen him, and she’d effectively left him behind. Even convinced herself that she no longer really cared about him. Of course, she hadn’t—couldn’t—forget him. But she wasn’t going to let him ruin her life.   
  
Harry had kept in touch with Ron, as was to be expected. But he hadn’t kept in touch with Ginny. That last fight she’d had with Harry had been a true ending. He was convinced that she’d never really understand who he was and what he needed to do. She did understand—was convinced he didn’t really understand himself.   
  
Ron still mentioned Harry to Ginny a lot and would try to feed her information about his whereabouts and activities with a characteristically unsubtle attempt at casualness. Ron couldn’t understand why his sister and best friend weren’t still together.   
  
They had loved each other once, and—to Ron—it was as simple as that.   
  
Hermione had always better understood the complexities, and it was Hermione who had taken Ginny aside quietly several months ago to tell her that she and Ron were getting married. And that Harry would be Ron’s best man.   
  
Which meant Ginny would have to see Harry again, after three years and countless miles of distance.   
  
The intervening months had passed faster than Ginny had been prepared for. So she was here now—standing in her family’s garden at the front of a gathered crowd, watching her brother marry the only woman he’d ever been in love with.   
  
Ron and Hermione had decided to get married at the Burrow, after a number of rather heated discussions about other possibilities. There had also been heated discussions about the guest list—the Weasleys wanting to invite everyone they knew and Hermione desperately trying to rein them in to a reasonable number. They’d also argued about the music, about the ceremony (Hermione had her heart set on a traditional Muggle wedding ceremony), about how many House Elves could attend, and about what to do about a possible infestation of garden gnomes.   
  
Ginny had fortunately not been around for most of the arguments—since she lived in her own flat in the city now—but her family hadn’t talked about anything except this wedding for months.   
  
Ginny had used all of her mental powers to force herself not to brood over seeing Harry at the wedding. But all she’d done was work herself up into an anxious frenzy by the time the wedding day finally arrived.   
  
If she had to see Harry again and admit that she hadn’t really moved on as much as she’d like, she would have preferred it to be in a different context. She’d seen him from a distance when he arrived—getting there at the last minute. Their eyes had met briefly, but neither had said anything, and the chaos of the day had soon taken them in different directions.   
  
Ginny knew that people were watching the two of them out of the corners of their eyes, wondering if she and Harry would pick up their relationship where it had left off three years ago. She would have preferred that their reconnection not be so public, although—even if they’d had privacy—all she would have done was greet him coolly and make sure he realized that she was no longer pining for him.   
  
Ginny also would have preferred that she was wearing a different dress.   
  
At the moment, she was wearing a very pretty bridesmaid’s gown that Hermione had spent weeks picking out. It had a flattering neckline, a smooth drape over her breasts and hips with a feminine flare at the hem.   
  
But it was pink. And this particular shade of pink clashed glaringly with Ginny’s red hair.   
  
If she were going to have to see Harry again, she wished she could have worn a color that made her look prettier.   
  
Not that she wanted to attract him anymore. But still . . . she wouldn’t have chosen this dress.   
  
Harry was Ron’s best man, and so he was standing at the front of the garden. He was dressed in black formal dress robes, and looked older, larger, quieter than she remembered—the harshness and isolation of his self-imposed mission evidently having taken its toll on him. Turning him even more inward, just as she’d feared.   
  
He looked very handsome, however, with his dark hair still slightly rumpled and a pair of glasses still poised against his lean face. Despite her conflicted emotions, she couldn’t help but experience a purely feminine appreciation for the smooth line of his shoulders, his long legs and his trim hips beneath his robes.   
  
Even as her brother and Hermione were beginning to speak their vows, and despite her attempt to force back the memory, Ginny’s mind fell back to a little more than three years ago. Just before the last assault on Voldemort and his Death Eaters. With the trembling fear and the search for connection that had been evoked by the literal uncertainty of their lives.   
  
Ginny and Harry had sought comfort and assurance and safety in each other. In their bodies as well as their hearts. They’d reached blindly for each other and found both strength and solace in their lovemaking.   
  
It had been the first time for both of them, and they’d been young, needy, a little awkward and uncertain. It hadn’t lasted very long, but they’d held onto each other desperately afterwards.   
  
And no night Ginny had spent with anyone else since had even come close to meaning as much.   
  
Standing at her brother’s wedding ceremony, Ginny could still feel Harry’s hands touching her in the dark. She somehow knew that, if he touched her that way now, he’d no longer be as hesitant and inexperienced.   
  
Despite the incongruous setting, her body reacted faintly to the thought.   
  
Shaking her head slightly, Ginny tried to scatter those images from her brain. She and Harry had been over a long time ago. She had a new life now. And she wasn’t going to put any more hope in a man who was convinced of his own inability to live a happy, normal life.   
  
She attempted to concentrate, to be happy for two people she loved, who deserved to have gotten to this point in their relationship.   
  
Ginny should have known that she and Harry never would.   
  
Ron couldn’t stop grinning as he tumbled through his words, as if he were overflowing with excitement and happiness and couldn’t possibly hold it all in. Hermione, in contrast, was calm, earnest, almost beatific as she clearly voiced her vows.   
  
Involuntarily, Ginny’s gaze slipped over to Harry yet again. This time, she caught him watching her before he noticed her gaze and immediately glanced away.   
  
Ginny’s chest began to ache painfully, acknowledging how far they were apart now. She was no longer a girl with a helpless crush on a notorious boy. She was an independent, strong-willed adult who knew better than to indulge in romantic daydreams.   
  
Sometimes she still felt like that same little girl.   
  
But she told herself even that would go away eventually.   
  
The wedding was over before Ginny had had time to work out all her feelings. She processed out with the wedding party and tried not to notice that Harry—silent, observant, effortlessly compelling—was walking down the aisle beside her.   
  
Then everything around her turned into a whirling tangle of activity—people hugging, laughing, talking, congratulating. She felt dizzy in the midst of it, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. The only thing she was precisely conscious of was exactly where Harry was located, exactly what Harry was doing.   
  
He was smiling now, as he pounded Ron on the back. A real smile. His old smile.   
  
And the sight of it caused a raw ache in Ginny’s throat.   
  
Part of her wanted to go up to him, drag him away, and make him really talk to her. Dig up everything unspoken between them so they might be able to move on from here.   
  
But a stronger part of her wouldn’t let her. And that other part of her was just . . . scared. Didn’t want to have everything determined, decided, spoken. Didn’t want to maybe learn that Harry had been able to move on, when Ginny hadn’t really been able to.   
  
She moved away from him as soon as she could. Busied herself with helping her mother make sure food and drink for the reception was all in order. Greeted friends and acquaintances she hadn’t seen in years, including Colin Creevey, Seamus and Lavender Finnigan, and Dean Thomas.   
  
Two hours passed, and Ginny found herself feeling more settled about the whole situation. She was even able to laugh with Tonks over a couple of teenage girls swooning visibly over Harry.   
  
Ginny and Harry were over now. More than over. And it didn’t matter if seeing him again had brought up a few old memories. That didn’t mean she was going to make the mistake of thinking anything could happen between them now.   
  
Talking to him would just confuse her again, so best to simply avoid him and then be grateful she’d come to her senses at last.   
  
Catching Ron and Hermione for a brief moment when they weren’t surrounded by well-wishing crowds, Ginny went over and gave them both hugs. Congratulated them and told herself that her own worries weren’t as important as their marriage.   
  
Ron, however, apparently disagreed. “Have you talked to Harry yet?” he asked bluntly.   
  
Ginny pressed her lips together and told herself not to get annoyed. Her brother loved her. Loved them both. He was only trying to help. “No,” she said quietly, narrowing her eyes and giving him what she hoped was a significant look.   
  
If he noticed her pointed glare, he ignored it. “Why not? You haven’t seen each other in three years. Don’t you want to . . .”   
  
“Ron,” she insisted in an uncharacteristically brittle voice. “I don’t want to talk to him.”   
  
Hermione put a hand on Ron’s arm. “I’m sure Ginny can . . .”   
  
“Why don’t you want to talk to him?” Ron demanded, interrupting his new wife and evidently not noticing her resulting, outraged expression. “So you had a fight before he left. That doesn’t mean you hate each other now.” He stared at Ginny with wide, blue eyes. “Does it?”   
  
With a loud sigh, she replied patiently, “I don’t hate him. It’s just too complicated to . . .”   
  
“She doesn’t want you to interfere,” Hermione put in, a familiar, opinionated note in her voice. “Maybe you should let the two of them handle this . . .”   
  
Ron interrupted Hermione again—something he should have known was never a good idea. “But they’re not handling it,” he grumbled. “If they would just talk it out, I’m sure they could . . .”   
  
“It isn’t your business,” Hermione snapped at him, a scowl twisting her lips. “Leave them alone.”   
  
Ron scowled too—evidently forgetting about Harry and Ginny’s problems in the wake of this outrageous, unmotivated attack on him by his new wife. Simmering with displeasure, he snarled, “Just because we’re married now doesn’t mean you can boss me ar—”   
  
“Well, someone needs to,” Hermione huffed. “You obviously can’t muddle through even the simplest conversation without making an absolute mess of it.”   
  
The two of them glared at each other heatedly, and Ginny just shook her head. “Isn’t this supposed to be the happiest day of your lives?” she prompted lightly.   
  
Hermione sniffed. “Well, it would be. If he wasn’t such a . . .” Her voice trailed off and her lips softened visibly.   
  
Ron hadn’t seemed to notice her change in mood. “If I wasn’t such a what?” he demanded, frowning malevolently.   
  
Hermione chuckled. “I love you.”   
  
Ron’s bad temper transformed in an instant into fatuous adoration. “I love you too.”   
  
Ginny watched with lifted eyebrows. And when she saw them start to lean into each other, she cleared her throat. “I believe that’s my cue to leave you two alone.”   
  
“You don’t have to go,” Ron assured her, pulling himself back together and running long fingers through his red hair. “Look, there’s Harry. Harry!” He called and waved toward his friend, obviously summoning him over to where they were standing.   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and met Hermione’s understanding gaze. “I think I’ll just . . .” she murmured, searching for an appropriate excuse to leave. When she saw that Ron wasn’t paying attention to her, she just shrugged at Hermione. “Thanks.”   
  
Hermione nodded. “Regardless of such woolly-headed interference, it might actually help to talk to him.”   
  
Sighing, Ginny acknowledged, “I know. But I just . . . can’t . . . right now.”   
  
She knew Hermione was right. Knew running away wasn’t going to help anything.   
  
But Harry had been the one to run away three years ago, and Ginny needed to pull herself together some more before she had enough nerve to face him again.   
  
Evidently, she wasn’t quite as rational and nonchalant about him as she’d been trying to convince herself she was earlier.   
  
Ginny wandered away, noticing from the corner of her eye that Harry had joined Ron and Hermione. From the earnest expression on Ron’s face and the fact that they were all looking in Ginny’s direction, it was clear what their topic of conversation was.   
  
Ginny tried to persuade herself she didn’t care. Harry hadn’t attempted  to talk to her today, so there was no reason for her to approach him and perhaps make him think that she was still interested in him romantically.   
  
That was definitely not the case anymore.   
  
Eventually, she left the garden, the small talk and exuberant mood becoming too much for her befuddled emotions. Ginny wasn’t someone who liked to be alone a lot, but sometimes even she needed to get away by herself to think.   
  
She went into the house, noticing that a lot of the guests had already made their way inside. The wedding was a free-for-all, and there were wizards camped out in the sitting room and the kitchen, discussing everything from the upcoming Quidditch World Cup to the Ministry’s latest problem with the goblins.   
  
To get away from everyone, Ginny wandered into a small side room, where wedding gifts were piled on a table. She could pretend to be organizing the gifts, which would at least give her an excuse to escape for a few minutes.   
  
“Are you planning to run away from me all day?”   
  
The voice came from behind her, and it was low, male, and familiar. After the voice, she heard the click of the door shutting behind him, and then the turn of the antique lock.   
  
She sucked in an indignant breath and whirled around angrily. “I’m not running away from you. Don’t overestimate your importance. I have other things to do.”   
  
Harry must have taken off his dress robes at some point because he was wearing just a dress shirt and a pair of black trousers. He stared at her mildly, although some kind of energy seemed to be simmering just under the surface of his calm. “Really?”   
  
Ginny swallowed hard and tried to control her temper. No use to act like a petulant child, after all. She was the one who had always been strong and level-headed. “I’ve noticed you haven’t made much effort to talk to me, either. Why blame me for what you’re doing yourself?”   
  
Harry’s face changed and he looked slightly impatient. He gave a half-shrug. “I’m not blaming you. I’m just wondering why we can’t even talk anymore.”   
  
Clenching her jaw, Ginny took a deep breath. Managed to say in a somewhat natural voice, “And what exactly do we have to say to each other?”   
  
“We could at least be polite.”   
  
“We could,” she acknowledged, her emotions rising up in her throat. Forcing them down, she wondered how all this feeling had so abruptly flared up between them. It hadn’t even taken time to build to a crescendo. The moment they’d started speaking, all the suppressed emotion from the last years had immediately started to spill over. “We could go through the motions of being civil and pleasant, ask how life is treating us and if we’ve read any good books lately. By why should I waste my time, just so you can feel better about acting like a noble, selfish ass?”   
  
Harry’s mild pretense was dissipating, and he became visibly annoyed, particularly by her final words. But he resolutely ignored them. Said, “We could try to catch up. We used to be friends.”   
  
“Were we?” she demanded, her breathing accelerating as she spoke. “Were we friends? It seems to me that we were a lot more than that.”   
  
“That doesn’t mean we can’t try to be friends again,” Harry insisted, ruffling his dark hair with restless fingers. “We can try to act like adults.”   
  
Ginny almost choked on her outrage. “How dare you act like you’re the mature, responsible one who’s trying to mend a broken relationship? You’re the one who left when you didn’t have to, and you’re the one who hasn’t said a word to me in years. Who never even tried to stay in touch. And you’re going to act like I’m a petty child who’s too sulky to still be your friend?”   
  
He nearly rolled his eyes at her in his rising exasperation. “That’s not what I meant. We’ve both made mistakes. Maybe we could try to put some of them behind us.”   
  
“For what reason?” she gritted out. “To do what? To put a pretty cover on all of the shit that’s between us? If you want to really put this behind us, then we’re going to have to get it all out.”   
  
She gave a little jerk when she realized what she’d just said. She hadn’t meant to say anything like that. Was still terrified of discovering that there was no longer anything left between them.   
  
Harry was getting more and more annoyed, and his body was visibly tensing up in response to his growing irritation. “So let’s,” he replied roughly. “Let’s get it out, if you think that’s the only thing worth doing.”   
  
“Fine,” she threw back at him, feeling a few strands of hair fall down over her warm cheeks. Pushing them behind her ears impatiently, she continued, “We’ll talk. So answer me this. Would you leave me again?”   
  
Harry was breathing just as heavily as she was. And something new had entered the room—something deep and hot and electric—as both of their bodies responded to the intensity of the mood that was developing. “What?” he asked hoarsely, evidently not tracking with her question.   
  
So she clarified, the words spilling out in a rush. “If you could make the same decision again, three years ago, would you go? Would you leave me again?” She bit her lip on the last word, felt her whole body beginning to shake imperceptibly.   
  
Ginny had revealed too much with the question, far too much. She was supposed to be playing it cool, showing him how little she cared about him.   
  
But she did care about him. Always had.   
  
And this was the only question she needed him to answer.   
  
Harry froze, as if the question had slammed into him unexpectedly. Finally, into the thick silence, he rasped, “Why does it matter?”   
  
It felt like the moment before a kiss—hanging in the air, pulsing with anticipation, a breath away from completion. Ginny was flushed and her fingers were trembling a little. And she had to acknowledge to herself that Harry meant as much to her now as he had before.   
  
Maybe even more.   
  
“You know why it matters,” she replied clearly, meeting his eyes and not looking away. “Answer the question.”   
  
Ginny stared at him, her heart hammering and her breath coming out in little pants. Her eyes were challenging him, daring him, forcing him to do what she suddenly knew he still wanted to do.   
  
Some things had changed in the three years since they’d been together, since she’d seen him. She’d grown up in more ways than she could have imagined—had fucked other men, had lost more than one person she was close to, had shed herself of any semblance of innocence, had stayed awake on so many nights, wondering if Harry was still alive.   
  
But some things hadn’t change. Wouldn’t change, even if everything else did.   
  
She wanted him. Felt her heart, her body, her whole being pulling toward him.   
  
And Harry still wanted her too.   
  
She knew that now, if only from the flare in his eyes. What Ginny didn’t know, as she struggled to steady her breathing and forced herself to keep her hands relaxed at her sides, was if Harry would ever let himself do something about it.   
  
He was tense—she could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the clench of his fingers, in the muscle fluttering at the side of his jaw. The eyes behind his glasses were devouring her, and she wondering just how far his control—and his martyr-like insistence that she would be safer and happier with someone else—could take him.   
  
He’d told her as much three years ago. That she should forget him. That his life had been mapped out for him and would always be too dark and conflicted for her to ever be part of.   
  
The boy Harry had been wouldn’t have said that, wouldn’t have believed it. But the man he’d become after facing Voldemort the final time couldn’t say anything else.   
  
“Well?” she demanded, unable to stand the thick silence shuddering between them. It felt like every nerve end in her body was tingling, like a pressure low in her belly was swelling up, threatening to implode and tear her apart.   
  
He swallowed so hard she could see it in his throat. “Ginny,” he gritted out roughly, obviously holding himself back. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”   
  
“Fuck you, Harry Potter,” she raged, hoping to shock him, her cheeks flushing in her fury and her hands finally tightening into fists. “I’m a grown woman. I’m not a little girl you need to save or protect. I haven’t been languishing in grief over your cowardly retreat three years ago, but that doesn’t mean . . .”   
  
“I wasn’t retreating,” he insisted, his harsh voice low and gravelly. She’d never seen him like this: the tension coiled so tightly in his body that he was nearly shaking with it. “I had work to do, and I couldn’t let you just wait around . . .”   
  
Her body was involuntarily responding to the hard, throbbing tension in his. The ache in her belly became even deeper, and her nipples tightened, rubbing tantalizingly against the fabric of her dress as she shifted restlessly in front of him. Biting her lip to control the sudden surge of desire, she concentrated instead on expressing the fiery resentment that had been smoldering inside her for so long.   
  
She interrupted him, “Don’t you dare lie to me, Harry. I’m not one of those silly girls who swoon every time you glance in their direction. I know you, remember.” She was panting again, her lower lip falling open as she sucked in an urgent breath. “I’ve always known you. You didn’t have to leave when you did. You wanted to.”   
  
Harry took a step forward, as if compelled by a force he couldn’t control. He grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her closer to him. “I did not want to,” he rasped. She’d never heard him use that voice, never seen that flaring heat in his eyes. “I left everything. Everyone. Because I had to. Because someone needed to . . .”   
  
“But not you!” she burst out, losing the last of her feigned indifference, although she was pretty sure it had never been convincing.   
  
Ginny wasn’t indifferent to Harry. Never had been.   
  
Never would be.   
  
“You didn’t have to be the one to do it,” she continued furiously. “Hadn’t you done enough already? You’d defeated Voldemort! And you’ve now spent three years chasing someone who would have pissed himself if Voldemort had barely raised his voice. He’s not that important!”   
  
“He is,” Harry muttered, turning his head to the side with a jerk. “We can’t leave any loose ends. That’s how new monsters are . . .”   
  
Ginny was practically spitting now in her fury. “But you didn’t have to do everything. Other people are looking for him too. You just couldn’t let yourself be happy, couldn’t let down your guard enough to admit that your battle was over. You were afraid to have it finished. Why don’t you admit it? You’re still afraid. Too afraid to take what you want.”   
  
Harry’s fingers tightened on her arms, digging into her flesh. “And what do you think I want?”   
  
She was trembling visibly now and her eyes were burning—from intensity more than anything else. “You know what you want,” she forced out, in a harsh whisper. “And in the back of your mind, you probably think it will always be here just waiting for you.”   
  
Harry’s chest was rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing, and his eyes were scorching with the heat of his gaze.   
  
“But it won’t be,” she concluded, pulling out of his grip. She took a few backward steps, an ache of arousal between her legs and another kind of ache in her chest. “Because, believe it or not, you’re not the only one who’s suffered. You’re not the only one looking for a way back from it.”   
  
She whirled around, feeling a hollow kind of victory—for having the last word, for telling him what she’d thought for so long, for having such crystal-clear insight into someone whose soul went so deep.   
  
Ginny’s throat was aching now too—just as painfully as her chest. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and she knew her hair was falling out of the up-do she’d worked so hard on this morning.   
  
She took three steps toward the door. Knew this was an ending. Knew a door had finally closed, one she’d kept open for too long.   
  
Then suddenly it swung wide open again, when she hadn’t believed it was possible.   
  
Harry took two long steps after her. “Ginny,” he said huskily. Grabbed her by one arm and swung her around to face him.   
  
She stared at him, almost gaping. She’d been so sure that he’d let her go, let her walk away, let her leave him in his noble, lonely pain.   
  
So she had no idea what was happening. Had no idea what it meant that he’d said her name, that he’d pulled her to face him again.   
  
Until he pushed her backward against the table in the room. Captured her mouth in an urgent kiss.   
  
Ginny grunted in surprise, even as her arms twined around his neck. His mouth was hard, hungry, almost desperate. Her mouth opened for his immediately, letting his tongue slide between her lips in frantic, needy exploration. She could feel his glasses pressing against her cheekbones, adding a new, hard texture of sensation. 

  
Their lips moved together roughly as Ginny pressed her breasts eagerly against the lean line of his chest. She rubbed against him, seeking any sort of friction to answer what was now a pulsing ache between her legs.   
  
Harry’s arms moved all the way around her, sliding down to her waist and pulling her even more tightly against him. His whole body was hard and hot—familiar at the same time it felt thrillingly, dangerously new.   
  
Her tongue was fluttering wildly against his when she felt one of his hands move up to her breast. He palmed the soft swell of flesh, chafing against the hard nipple. She dug her fingers into the back of his neck and moaned helplessly into his mouth.   
  
Then suddenly their mouths tore apart—she wasn’t sure who’d made the first move to pull back—and they stared at each other in quiet urgency of the room, the silence broken only by the matching harshness of their breathing.   
  
Ginny’s body felt like a flame, a fuse, a wave about to crash. And she had to shift, rubbing her thighs together, needing him so much but unwilling to make another move until he did.   
  
“You want this?” he asked hoarsely.   
  
She nodded. “Yes. Don’t you?”   
  
With an affirmative inclination of his head, he persisted, “So what exactly does this mean?”   
  
Tossing her head impatiently, she bit out, “Why does it have to mean anything?”   
  
And that, evidently, was enough. He grabbed her again, pressing his lean body into hers. Sinking into another kiss, he cupped the curve of her butt, pushing her pelvis against his.   
  
Ginny felt a jolt of desire shoot through her as she felt a hard bulge in the front of his trousers. She rubbed against it instinctively, causing him to groan low in his throat, as his mouth worked over hers, more ravenous than skillful.   
  
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed with need, with desire, with unnamable intensity, Ginny desperately turned her face to the side, sucking up air and trying to center herself so these sensations didn’t swallow her whole.   
  
Harry let out a huff of surprise at her sudden motion, but just lowered his mouth to the now exposed line of her throat. He mouthed a wet line down to her throbbing pulse, nipping occasionally and fluttering his tongue in a way that caused her to whimper in pleasure.   
  
Ginny’s hands had moved down to his ass, squeezing and pulling him toward her in shameless haste. Needing friction desperately, she raised one of her legs, hooking it around the back of his knees so she could rub her hot arousal against the upper part of his thigh.   
  
She let out a relieved groan as the friction sent tingles of pleasure to the ache at her center. Then she found herself clawing at his shirt, trying to yank it out of his trousers so she could reach his bare skin.   
  
“Ginny,” Harry gasped, as she rocked against him in wanton rhythm, stimulating both her arousal and his. His face twisted in effort and desire. “I can’t . . .”   
  
Realizing her reckless motion against him was pushing him out of control, Ginny grew still, even though her body was screaming at her to keep rocking. “Then hurry up,” she demanded. “I’m dying here.”   
  
Harry pulled back, just far enough to start working on unfastening his trousers. “You think you’re dying,” he muttered dryly.   
  
Incongruously, Ginny choked on a chuckle of appreciative amusement, reminded of how clever he’d always been. But her humor disappeared completely when Harry freed his hard cock.   
  
She stared down at him for a moment, hardly believing that this was really happening.   
  
But, before she could work out the irony, Harry pushed her back against the table. Scooted a few of the wedding gifts out of the way. Then lifted her up so she was perched on the edge. His hands slipped under her skirt and slid up her bare thighs, pushing the fabric up as he went.   
  
She lifted her hips slightly to let him bunch up the dress around her waist so it was out of the way. Then his hands moved forward to the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Ginny shivered helplessly in response to his touch.   
  
Then one of his hands cupped the hot, wet source of her arousal.   
  
Ginny closed her eyes and let out of lingering moan as she felt the pressure of his fingers through the now damp fabric of her flimsy knickers.   
  
Her legs had fallen apart involuntarily, but he pushed her thighs further apart to make room for his body between them.   
  
His eyes were hot and possessive, staring down at his hand between her splayed legs. Then his fingers dipped under her knickers. Slipped along the wet, swollen flesh underneath until one finger slid all the way inside her.   
  
Ginny gasped and clutched at his shoulders, her head falling backward and her back arching forward. Her intimate muscles were slick and accommodating, and they clung to Harry’s finger as he explored.   
  
“Harry,” she breathed, trying to squirm but unable to in her precarious position. “Harry, please.”   
  
He looked back up at her face, and she was briefly afraid she might drown in what she saw in his eyes.   
  
Then he moved his hand out from between her legs. Quickly found his wand and cast a hasty, muttered spell of birth control and protection. Then he dropped the wand. Moved one hand down to his cock and stepped forward until the tip of his erection was nudging at the damp spot on her knickers.   
  
“Damn it, Harry,” she muttered, trying not to whimper in heated anticipation. “Get on with it.”   
  
He let out a huff of laughter and then moved her knickers out of the way, and lined himself up at her entrance.   
  
Ginny hooked her legs around him as his hard flesh began to push into her, her inner muscles gripping at the same time they were stretching to make room for him inside her.   
  
Harry stifled a rough groan of pleasure as he sunk inside of her all the way.   
  
They clung to each other for a moment, arms tight and needy, his cock sheathed fully inside her.   
  
Until the rich pressure at her center started to expand, and Ginny couldn’t hold still anymore. She tried to pump her hips, although she was basically trapped on the table by his body. Digging her fingers into his back through the fabric of his shirt, she whimpered, “Harry, move.”   
  
With another huff of effort, Harry grabbed her by the hips and eased his pelvis back, until only the tip of his erection was still inside her.   
  
Ginny held her breath, felt like her whole body, like the whole world was throbbing.   
  
Then he thrust back in, the friction rich and exquisitely tantalizing.   
  
Ginny moaned in pleasure at the resulting sensations and tried to meet his thrust as much as she could.   
  
Harry’s eyes were crawling over her—from her tousled red hair, to her flushed face, to her tight nipples against the fabric of her dress, and down to the spot where they were joined. When she began to squirm again, he pulled back once more.   
  
Thrust in, this time causing her to toss her head in helpless response to the jolt of pleasure they generated.   
  
“Harry, faster,” she demanded in a broken whisper, trying to pull him even closer to her. Her legs tightened around him, keeping him from pulling out quite as far.   
  
“Fuck, Ginny,” Harry murmured thickly, closing his arms around her and leaning into her until his mouth was at her ear. His warm breath blew across her sensitive skin there. “Ginny, you feel incredible.”   
  
She whimpered in response, trying to gain some leverage to pump her hips. His hard length was filling her, but remained perfectly still inside her.   
  
She heard him suck in a breath in response to her motion, and he started to pump into her with faster, shorter thrusts.   
  
“Yes,” she hissed, as the jerky rhythm caused the chaotic sensations swirling inside her to coalesce into the beginnings of an orgasm.   
  
Harry’s body felt like it was burning up, and it was so hard and tight she was afraid it might shatter. He started to grunt as he pushed into her, his strokes urgent and choppy and delicious.   
  
Her heels were digging into the back of his legs, and her fingers were clawing at his bare ass. She wanted to have him, to claim him, to mark him as her own. And she couldn’t seem to get him close enough, wanted to sink inside him and never come out.   
  
Her position wasn’t the most comfortable. Her butt was rubbing against the table with the force of his motion, and she had to cling to him in order to keep her balance.   
  
But she’d never felt like this in her life. Never felt like her whole being was swelling up in a hot wave of need and desire.   
  
Harry’s grunts were more urgent now, and he pulled his head back to stare at her face for a moment before he captured her in another deep kiss.   
  
Ginny whimpered into his mouth, feeling herself approach the brink of orgasm. His cock was sliding easily inside her wet channel, and his short, rough pushes were hitting just the right spot.   
  
And then his tongue was plunging into her mouth, finding a rhythm to match their frantic rutting.   
  
Ginny breathed desperately through her nose as their kiss became deeper and clumsier. Felt like Harry was devouring her. Like she was devouring him.   
  
She could still see the look in his eyes before he’d kissed her. He’d been almost wild, coiled with a primal need and possession. He was making rough sounds in his throat now, even in the midst of their kiss. The sounds matched the rhythm of his hard pushes inside her, and they were the most erotic thing Ginny had ever heard.   
  
When she couldn’t stand anymore, she tore her mouth away again. Gasped for air and rocked against his thrusting, feeling her breasts and thighs jiggling with their urgent, primitive motion.   
  
She was close to coming, all the pressure below her belly rising and swelling and peaking. But she couldn’t seem to get there, the luscious friction of his pounding turning into sensual torture as it pushed her farther to the edge but not over it.   
  
She tossed her head helplessly and made a few sobbing noises, her face contorted with need and concentration. “Eh, eh, eh,” she gasped, bouncing against him as much as she could, desperately seeking her release.   
  
“Ginny,” Harry said thickly, his hands tightening in the flesh of her ass. “Ginny, come . . . soon.”   
  
“Yeah,” she whimpered, almost on the verge of screaming. “Yeah, yeah, coming.” She could feel the moisture gathering where he was pumping in and out of her. Feel her swollen flesh pulsing in desperate need.   
  
With another sob of frustration, she released her hold on his body and instead snuck her hand down toward where their bodies joined. Forcing him to shift slightly to give her better access, she fingered herself until she found her clit, brushing her knuckles against the slick base of his cock in the process.   
  
She pushed into her swollen clit clumsily, crying out in relief as she did so. Harry kept pushing into her with fast, choppy thrusts, and her channel contracted around his hard length automatically as she massaged herself with urgent circular motion.   
  
“Fuck,” Harry choked, his whole body clenching up like a fist. His rhythm suddenly became even faster, his hips jerking spasmodically against her.   
  
Ginny cried out again, too loud for their less than private setting, but absolutely unable to stop herself. She rubbed her clit frantically, felt Harry’s cock driving into her.   
  
And all the sensations froze in one thick moment of absolute torture. Until they exploded, pleasure pulsing out from her center in radiating waves of sensation. Her inner muscles clenched around him ruthlessly, and her whole body convulsed with her release.   
  
Her spasming muscles pulled Harry into climax as well. He let out a rough, breathless grunt. Jerked against her a few last times. Then his face transformed as all of the tension in his body released itself in the pulsing of his cock.   
  
Their spasms lingered for a long time, as they gasped and clutched at each other. Ginny’s legs were losing their circulation, and her feet were a little bit numb. But she couldn’t seem to move, even as Harry’s erection began to soften inside her.   
  
Finally, she had to shift uncomfortably, and Harry loosened his arms around her and helped her untangle her stiff legs.   
  
She stood up, her knees threatening to buckle as she pulled her skirt down over her legs and tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles on her dress. Harry pulled his pants up and returned his clothes to order as well. Both of them were silent but kept darting the others’ questioning looks.   
  
Ginny knew she must look a mess. Even without a mirror, she knew her hair had tumbled down, her lips swollen, her cheeks blazing, and her dress rumpled.   
  
She knew she must look like she’d been well and thoroughly fucked.   
  
But there was still a wedding going on beyond the door, and she couldn’t be absent from it for too long.   
  
Someone would come looking for her soon. Ginny almost shuddered at the thought.   
  
“So you fuck with your glasses on?” she asked idly, mostly just for something to say. She’d sounded more jaded than she’d intended, but she decided it was better than sounding like she was about to melt into a puddle on the floor.   
  
Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Sometimes,” he acknowledged, his voice still sounding slightly breathless. “When I want to see what I’m doing. They sometimes get fogged up.”   
  
She nodded distractedly. Had no idea what to say next. Looked around, as if she were looking for a way out.   
  
“Ginny?” Harry’s voice was low and husky and rich with significance.   
  
They both knew this had meant something. They just weren’t quite sure what it meant.   
  
Ginny knew what he was asking her. Didn’t have an answer. At least, not until she knew if anything between them had really changed. “What’s your answer to my question?” she asked, challenging him once more with her eyes.   
  
Harry’s brow lowered. “Your question?”   
  
“The one I asked you earlier.”   
  
Would he have made the same decision to leave, if he could do it all over?   
  
She waited, holding her breath and at the same time trying to get some more feeling back into her toes.   
  
Harry’s face changed. He was nearly as flushed as she was, and his hair more wildly tousled than normal. And Ginny felt an irrational surge of pride and possessiveness as she realized that he looked just as thoroughly fucked as she did.   
  
That she’d been the one to do it.   
  
His expression twisting with some sort of undefined emotion, Harry responded throatily, “Ginny, I don’t think I know.”   
  
She released her breath. Was surprised when she didn’t feel a wave of despair or anger over this admission.   
  
Instead, she felt something else. Something almost like hope.   
  
Arching her eyebrow at him, she gave him an ironic half-smile. “Well, don’t you think it’s about time you figured it out?”   
  
With that, she brushed past him. Hoped she didn’t look too debauched and decided she’d better make a quick trip upstairs before she made a public appearance.   
  
She actually limped for a step or two, as she was sorer than she had expected from their fucking. But, when she reached the door to the room, she turned back to Harry, who was staring after her.   
  
“Let me know when you have a real answer for me.” She spoke the words lightly, liltingly, and left Harry with his mouth open slightly, looking like he’d been overwhelmed, stunned, and blessed all at once. “And then maybe we can talk some more.”   
  
She closed the door behind her softly and felt a silly wave of power and giddiness, although she immediately tried to squelch it.   
  
Nothing was decided here. All they’d done was fuck.   
  
But, heading upstairs before anyone saw her, Ginny couldn’t help but wonder if it had meant anything significant. If it would lead to anything more.   
  
If it had been an ending or another beginning.   
  
  
THE END


End file.
